A place to write.

There comes a time in every writer’s life that they realise they need to be writing, most times just for the sake of it. It doesn’t have to be anything remotely resembling profound either, it just needs to be written. It feels like it has to come out. While this may be true at the time, it is also a common event to revisit something that was written during these moments and find that it is absolute shit. Doesn’t matter. It just needed out. I’ve read great words and thoughts from great writers, and I’ve seen and heard interviews where they’ve imparted small bits of wisdom, passed on some of their techniques and advice on how to use what can be considered talent. The best and most consistent advice that I’ve ever heard was the simplest as well. Write. Just write. I get that a lot, that urge to write. While it’s usually an urge to actually create something, writing satisfies it in a way that few other things can. Drawings have a way of never feeling completed and tend… Read moreA place to write.


The scene is set with two Celtic warriors facing each other, either of warring clans or over a serious dispute involving land and honour. It must be serious, this is a fight to the death. The plume of hair rides down from the top of his helmet into his face as his eyes squint and his mouth carves out a sneer. He yells at me something barely intelligible that I take to mean he intends to kill me this day, and I acknowledge the receipt of this message by yelling something even more unintelligible back at him about how I have no intention of dying. He raises his shield and his sword and I raise mine. He waits for a half-beat and I let loose with a scream that is matched in intensity only by the blow from my sword. It clangs heavily off of his shield. As I follow-up with two more heavy shots, I don’t realise I am still screaming until I stop. He was been waiting, biding his time and measuring what I’ve got to bring against… Read moreFighting.


The air is slightly humid, it must have been quite foggy in the earlier morning hours. The sunlight glides through the trees and lands in swatches on the grass surrounding me and gives a dull glow to the rivets across the top of my helmet. It’s copper finish shines with an understated polish, standing out and pleasing the eye but not inviting as a focal point. It has strength with subtlety. The leather across the cuff of my arm braces digs into my wrist as I tighten down the smaller straps and each arm gives a faint and straining creak as I adjust them on my forearm. The helmet’s somewhat clunky metal flaps fall awkwardly on my hands as I lift it to my head, and the familiar slightly musty smell of stale sweat and physical activity hits my nose a split second before I plunk it on top of my head. As I cinch down the strap under my chin, I can feel a change come over me, as if my entire perspective on the World has changed in… Read moreTraining.

So. Writing. And Work.

I actually wrote this in an email to a friend, but then figured I’d not only like more concrete documentation of this line of thinking than an item in my “Sent” folder, but that I’d like to share it with more than just one person. I’ve been doing lots of thinking about this kind of shit in the last few weeks/months. I’ve even written about it before, but probably in one of the other blogs and not JH, and it’s getting to be something of an issue in Life. See, the thing is, unlike a great many, I actually Know where my passions lie. And, also unlike a great many, I’m starting to learn that I may actually have a talent for them. Much like you, El Puerco, and my amazing and wonderful wife, I’m pretty good at this writing thing. And I wanna do it, like all the time ?n stuff. Then there’s work. I am in the Fucking IT field, and Yes I capitalise it because it means that to me, where I am good at what I… Read moreSo. Writing. And Work.

Welcome to Australia Mate.

As I was driving back from Hungry Jack’s (“Burger King” Aussie-ized) the other night, the full enormity of what I’d done really hit me, and I almost yelled at the old woman walking her dog, “Holy Shit! I live in a WHOLE other country! You believe this?!?” I didn’t voice that thought, but that didn’t stop her from staring at me in wonderment anyway, and I realized that I may not have such a firm grasp of this whole driving-on-the-other-side-of-the-road business. That, or I’m nowhere near Australian Idol worthy with my rendition of “Bob the Builder” despite my intense passion and overwhelming volume. For as much as it barely phases me that I’m now constantly called “Daddy” and wander the aisles of the liquor store singing, “BOB THE BUILDER, Can he fix it? Yes! He! Can!” it also takes a minute for me to grasp that things are soooooo different here. I’d love to think that I would ever have the time to catalog and dissect every little amusing difference between the American and Australian cultures, (heh… “fanny”… ha ha…… Read moreWelcome to Australia Mate.